


Unfortunate Little Boys

by embodiment_of_perfection



Category: Carry On - Rainbow Rowell
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-18
Updated: 2016-10-18
Packaged: 2018-08-23 03:44:26
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,603
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8312683
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/embodiment_of_perfection/pseuds/embodiment_of_perfection
Summary: “No it’s just that I get people to fight me because I want to feel something, even if it's pain and you have felt so much, you can't control you're anger and we fit together like two pieces of jigsaw puzzle.”
“Two very fucked up pieces of jigsaw puzzle.”





	

Baz takes off his jacket and tosses it on the couch.

“Shouldn’t you be at some bar getting completely shitfaced?” He says with a smirk.

_God damnit, That was one time!_

I pick up my cup and slosh the liquid around.

“Shouldn’t you be in your room jerking off to your mom’s beauty magazines?” I retort as I lazily take a sip from my cup.

“Why would I need beauty magazines when i can picture your mom?” He barely has time to finish his sentence before I lunge at him and have him pinned against the fridge. My arm pressing on his throat.

“Don’t you dare.” I growl at him.

“Aww little Simon misses his mommy...” He says in a mocking voice but makes no attempt to move out of my grasp.

“You don’t get to talk about her.”  I press my arm harder against him. My other hand is free to punch.

I _will_ punch him. If he keeps on talking.

“Oh that’s right, only daddy gets to talk about her. When he’s drunk.”

_Drunk._

_Dad never says anything nice about mum when he’s drunk._

_Heck he never says anything nice about her at all._

_All he does is throw around bottles and beat up unfortunate little boys._

Baz’s word feels like a slap.

An he knows it. He knows it very well.

“Stop.” I try to say it in a threatening voice but it comes out as a meek whisper.

“Why? Are my words too painful for you? You should be used to pain by now.” His voice is like a jagged blade. And he knows all about jagged blades.  
I swing my arm and it connects with his jaw with a satisfying crack.

His fist lands a blow in my stomach and pain shoots through my abdomen. I aim a kick at his shin and another at his side. He gasps. His elbow connects with my nose and I can almost smell the blood that drips down it. I gasp. It feels like a dance. I punch. He gasps. He punches. I gasp. I kick. He swears. He kicks. I swear. A wave of pain hits me as his kick lands on the side of my head and I stumble back. I raise my fist again but there’s a moment of hesitation. I see as his expression falters and he takes a lurching step back.

He knows he’s gone too far.

I never hesitate to punch.

 

He’s looking at me with expectant eyes. His dark eyes drilling into me.

He’s expecting me to hit him back.

 

I charge at him. My hands grabbing his collar. His back pressed against the fridge again. The look in his eyes scares me. It’s the look I have seen very often in the mirror.

It’s the look of utter fear.

I know he’s thinking about the last time.

 

When it was dad instead of him.

Pinned against the wall.

 

And after I had calmed down, dad was lying on the floor in a crumpled heap of alcohol and hatred.

 

_No._ I want to say.

_I will never hurt you._

_Not like_ he _did._

 

Instead I lean forward and press my lips against his. I feel his body tense up, then he relaxes and his hands reach up to cup my face. His touch, ever so gentle.  As if he’s scared of breaking me. _You can’t break what's already broken._ I want to say. But I close my eyes and try to drown myself in him. His fingers tangle in my hair. My hands are still grabbing his collar. Instead of letting go, I pull him closer. His skin is burning hot against mine.I wish we could stay like this forever.

Even though I don’t want to, I pull away.

“You know you don't always have to fight me to get me to kiss you.” I say softly.

My hands are still clenched on his collar.

“Yeah? What else can I do to get you to kiss me?” He asks in an innocent tone.

“I can think of a few things.” I smirk.

It takes him a moment to comprehend it and then his cheeks light up like a wildfire.

“Wow And penny thinks I’m the perverted one.” He shakes his head. His hair falls into his eyes. I reach up to tuck it behind his ear.

“Why do you always do this?” My voice comes out as a whisper.

“What?”

“This.” I nod towards my hands still clenched on his collar. “Why do you provoke people to fight you?”

“I don’t.” He says quietly as he pushes me away.

He starts towards the couch but I grab his wrist.

“Yes you do. And you are very good at it. You know exactly what to say to make the other person lose control. _Why do you do it?_ ”

“I don’t.” He repeats, his chin jutting out stubbornly.

I can see the tears welling up in his eyes.

Still grabbing his wrist, I sit down on the kitchen floor, pulling him down with me.

I let go of his arm and he buries his face into his hands.

“I don’t.” His voice is muffled.

I don’t say anything. Instead I cup his chin, and lift his face up.

A tear spills down his sharp cheeks.

He’s all hard edges on the outside.

But he’s also a little broken on the inside.

People have this shining light in their eyes. And when they go through shit, something inside them shatters. And they lose that light in their eyes. Their eyes become hollow caverns of pain. And that’s how you can tell when they are broken on the inside.

Baz’s eyes are hollow.

Like all emotion has been sucked out of them.

“I don't I doN’T I  FUCKING DO NOT!!!” His voice turns from a  whisper to a scream.

I look at him dumbfounded.

“Okay, you don’t. I didn’t want to -”

“I don’t.” His voice breaks as a sob escapes his lips. His chin quivers as he tries to hold back the tears. I wrap my arms around his shoulder and pull him into a hug. He rests his head on my shoulder and I feel his tears drip on my shirt. I hold him while he cries. His whole body shakes. His sobbing has the same force of someone drowning. I pull my face away to look at him.

“I’m sorry.” I say softly, running my hand absently through his hair.

He shakes his head. “You shouldn’t be.”

He wipes his eyes, trying to rub away the emptiness. But you can’t just rub years of pain away.

He lifts his head and looks me in the eye.

“I should be the one apologizing. I know how you are with anger and I still make you fight me.”

His eyes are gray. Gunmetal grey.

“What did he do this time?” I ask after a pause.

“I wish he _did_ something, all he does is say stuff. He said it was all my fault. Mum dying in the fire was all my fault. That I, somehow, should have done something. I was fucking five years old. What could I have done?” The color of his eyes shifts to a stormy gray. Threatening a hurricane.

“Fathers..” I say shaking my head. “We would be so much better without them.”

I tighten my embrace around him. He rests his head against my shoulder blade.

“At least you got rid of yours.”

“Geez you make it sound like I killed him and dumped his body in the sea.” I say with a chuckle.

I feel him laugh against my shoulder.

“Well...did you?” He pulls back and looks at me with a crooked smile.

“I would tell you but then I would have to kill you.” I say slyly and we both burst out laughing.

“No but seriously...how are you doing? How is it with him gone?” He asks as his expression turns serious again.

“It’s better...I think. It’s kinda lonely. But my body isn’t littered with bruises anymore so that’s good.” I say solemnly.

I close my eyes as he runs his hand through my hair.

 

The video of that day plays in my mind on a loop.

 

Dad had thrown a bottle at my head.

I always tried to avoid him when he was drunk but that night I lost it. I was completely done with him. So I gave him what he deserved. Baz called the cops and they took dad when they saw the gash on my head. Physical and mental child abuse. That was what they charged him with.

_“Tell them how much I love you.”_ He kept on saying that. I showed them how much he loved me when the cops asked me. I took off my shirt. A fractured rib was all the proof they needed of his ‘love’.

“Don’t feel bad. He deserved to be locked up in a prison. You did the right thing.” He knows exactly what to say.

I sigh.

“It’s funny…” He starts but then stops himself.

“What? What’s funny?” I inquire. I can’t seem to find anything funny in our situation.

A boy with anger control issues.

And a boy who longs for the embrace of sharp edges.

Nope. Nothing funny.

“ _What?”_ i am really curious now.

“No it’s just that I get people to fight me because I want to feel _something_ , even if it's pain and you have felt so _much,_ you can't control you're anger and we fit together like two pieces of jigsaw puzzle.”

 

“Two _very_ fucked up pieces of jigsaw puzzle.”


End file.
